Not Like Kikyo
by Suki
Summary: . . .You, he whispered hoarsely, in a way that worried Kagome like nothing he had ever done before, are not like Kikyo. [NarKag] [oneshots]
1. Not Like Kikyo

_Author's Note: I have these little snippets of Naraku/Kagome laying around, and the chance of my ever sewing them together into a quality story is unlikely. So I decided to extend _Not Like Kikyo_ into a collection of short Na/Ka stories. You can imagine them as bits of a longer story, chopped up, thrown in a blender, and then served as a shake . . . er, I mean . . . not in order . . . or if you prefer, several short ficclets that have no connection to each other whatsoever._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha or anything original to that series. Only my stories._

**_Not Like Kikyo_**

He had snatched her up as a mere accident, not foreseeing the difficulty of getting the shards away from her in once separating her from her companions. He had managed to corner her against a rock face, a skilled predator advancing on prey. She was terrified. He was nearly upon her, he had only to stretch out his hand and take the jewel, when a queer reaction occurred. He was blinded and disoriented by a flash of hot light. The next moment, he heard the tell-tale signs of the damned _hanyou_ following the girl's trail up the mountain.

He was too close to lose his chance. Keeping his cool leverage over the situation, he crossed the barrier between them without hesitation and yanked at the tiny pouch around her neck. Her little hand came around automatically to grasp his, and again, the light flashed. This time, having found a medium, it jolted through his arm and into his body. It didn't hurt him, not really. But it was enough to knock him off balance momentarily.

"Kagome!" Inuyasha cried, making a leaping bound to strike a fatal blow at the back of her perpetrator.

But in the moment between leaving the ground and meeting his target, the blood-eyed _youkai_ snatched up the _miko_ and was away before the seething dog-demon could discern in which direction they'd gone.

For Naraku never lost control.

* * *

Somewhere between sleep and waking, she was vaguely aware that she had left the mountain. She was so scared. And she was used to terror. But this, this being alone with the Enemy had been too much for her. Her adrenaline level reached an all time high, and she felt an eerie detachedness, so that when a vague power came out of her to confront Naraku, she had not been astonished, only rather stunned.

_I'm going to die . . ._ was her last conscious thought.

She was unaware of how much time had lapsed when she started to stir. The dim light suggested the pre-twilight evening and made it hard for her eyes to adjust. When she could see better she discerned that she was in an empty room, the corners of which were menacingly bathed in shadows. A few windows on one wall allowed the grey half-light to trickle through. With a jolt of dread, she recalled what had happened.

Animal instinct took over, and she shot up like a bolt and scuttled into a corner of the room, huddling. She automatically felt around her neck for the pouch of Shikon shards, but it was gone.

She felt vaguely ill. An almost tangible, inky darkness poisoned the air, pulsing.

She had no idea where she was.

In fact, her enemy and the main source of her fear had flown to one of his many fortress houses, disposing of her disinterestedly onto the floor upon arrival and removal of the sacred jewel. He had very well forgotten about her. It was his child-spawn, Kagura, who warily reminded him of his fretful guest.

"Do something with her," Kagura urged, then adjusted her tone after a look from her master. Quietly, "Her fearful aura is invading the whole house – I can't think properly. Kill her or something, I don't know . . . ."

Naraku, back to the pretty demoness, played strangely with the pouch of jewel shards in his hand.

"I suppose it can't be helped . . . she's only human, after all."

A strange look crossed Kagura's face and vanished quickly before she answered. "At least say I can do something with her then."

He thought for a moment. "No . . . that won't be necessary." He rose abruptly, and passed out of the room, elegantly, as if he glided right over the floor.

Kagome, shivering in her corner, heard the rice-paper door slide open. The tall man slipped through, draped in silken, embroidered robes like an idol. His twisting black waves fell over his shoulders like limp snakes, and his pale face was masculine and sharp. The poison-red eyes sparkled eerily, framed by dark, ceremonial paint. He smiled faintly at her, a slight upturning of one corner of the mouth. He was beautiful in a haunting, sad way. But when he smiled, he looked utterly wicked.

He approached the raven-haired _miko_, and as he did, she drew her knees up to her chest and clasped, hugging them like a lost child. Her hair curled in the damp air, and puffs of cloudy air funneled through her little mouth. Her cheeks were rosy from the chill. Amber eyes turned to her hands, as if they were the only things keeping her alive.

Naraku halted a few feet away, regarding her. He had dealt with this woman-child before, if only indirectly, and the power she always demonstrated, when pushed to the limit, was impressive, if not quite unsettling.

They were like this for some time, until the silence seemed to thicken into a liquid. The light fled, and the shadows deepened.

Then he spoke. His voice was deep and smooth, like black water, and his face showed no emotion. "So you are the _Shikon no miko_ . . . what is your name?"

"Kagome," she whispered, flinching at the sound of her own voice. To hear it conversing with his meant, beyond all doubt, that she was really here.

"Kagome," he repeated, and the syllables rolling off of his tongue caused her to flinch again. "Kikyo's reincarnation."

The comment prompted her to raise her gaze to look at him. She knew the story well. He had once been a man, and a man had instincts, and this man had wanted Kikyo. She wondered in the still-functioning part of her mind (where the terror did not numb it) whether some part of him wanted her still. But the Naraku she knew hated anyone and everyone.

Now, she recoiled as he knelt, bending forward to get a closer look. There was somewhat of a resemblance, though this one was not as pretty as her predecessor.

Kagome swallowed, and summoned courage to raise her head and address him. "What . . . what have you taken me for?"

Something low rumbled in his throat and grew, faintly, until she realized that he was laughing. "It may surprise you, my dear," he said amusedly, a cruel glint in his eye, "but you and your friends are not first on my list of things to do."

She furrowed her eyebrows, trying to decipher him. He had paused, seemingly waiting for a response. Why was he humoring her? "I – I don't understand," she said meekly, and she cursed herself mentally for sounding so small and frightened. Though it was silly, some childish part of her thought she could be safer if he thought she was unafraid.

He moved his hand beneath the undermost kimono of his clothing and removed her small suede pouch, the one she kept the shards in. He dangled this in front of her, then replaced it beneath the yards of fabric.

This was meant to tease her; and it worked. At the sight of her shards, Kagome felt a small surge of anger and defiance. How _dare_ he take _her_ jewel . . . .

Though the reaction was well-concealed, and not large enough to make a significant difference in her survival strategy, Naraku sensed her wrath. It was quite pleasing.

"Bringing you here was a mistake," he confided, "and I never make the same mistake twice – if ever."

Once again, he seemed expectant for an answer.

"I – what – er," she spluttered, flustering. She suddenly realized he was playing with her; she was like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. This revelation was followed by a new rush of anger and despair. She wanted Inuyasha to come and get her, but in all likeliness, if she wanted to survive, she was going to have to rely on herself. With a horrible sinking sensation, she wondered what the odds of that were.

"Hm. She's articulate, too," the demon lord mocked

Kagome was hungry and wet and cold. It took everything in her not to cry, but even her stubborn effort could not withhold a few stray tears from grazing her flushed cheeks.

"Well," Naraku said, rising, "I will find something to do with you; you should have no fear of that." He spoke leisurely. It resulted in a rather regal-sounding effect. "Perhaps Inuyasha will come looking for you; perhaps not. Perhaps you will be here waiting for him when he does; perhaps not."

Kagome's anger scorched her cheeks. But her fear, which was more prevailing, silenced her.

Naraku noted her turmoil with slight interest. Unlike Kikyo, she did not have good restraint over her emotions. Unlike Kikyo, she couldn't afford not to.

The free thought of Kikyo swept away his imagination and set his mind running: her cool, graceful movements, her vacant eyes, pouting mouth, her sad, fatalistic acceptance of her fate. Desperately, he grasped for control. Onigumo was still alive and well within him, and whether he wished to admit it or not, remained the core of his being. If he did not keep him safely hidden beneath layer upon layer, he would soon have full reign. Each new _youkai_ he absorbed became another layer. But his humanity was the foundation. And Onigumo was buried _alive_. He, the great Naraku, was ashamed; which was why he desperately, in his impassive way, desired the Shikon Jewel – to rid himself of this weakness. Only, would there be a self afterwards? The question was not one he addressed, and for good reason.

Kagome, though insightful, had not the senses to perceive this well-hidden struggle. It happened in an instant, and the façade had remained as inexpressive and smooth as ever. Perhaps, if the light had been better, she might have noticed he looked slightly tired.

"If I kill you," Naraku continued, almost casually, "you should know it is not because you are in any way a threat."

"If you let me live," Kagome countered, suddenly filled with a rising courage, "I promise you, Naraku. I will not stop fighting." The thought of unavoidable death has a morbid way of putting things in perspective. Kagome knew then, with Naraku's help, that letting the entire jewel fall into the hands of this _hanyou_ was bad – very bad. And a sense of a higher morality, of transcendent duty, possessed her. Perhaps she would die – what then? Life would go on, other people would go on. What about them?

With these words, he laughed at her, and the momentary sense of a greater cause left her, and she felt tiny and frail again.

"That's easy for you to say now," he drawled. "You're still fresh with memories of love and laughter. You haven't despaired of living, haven't tasted that dreadful desire for death. You're happy world is an illusion, and the sooner you realize that, the stronger you will become."

"No," she said, voice faint but unwavering, "you're wrong. To despair is to be weak, Naraku. When you forfeited your soul and chose unhappiness, you gave in, and now you've forgotten – you've forgotten how truly strong the other side can be."

Suddenly, she perceived that Naraku was gazing intently at her through narrowed eyes. His movements were abrupt but agile. It happened so quickly. Somehow, he had lunged toward her, closing in on her like an ominous storm. She pressed herself violently against the wall, trying desperately to keep her distance. Mere inches away from her, kneeling, he reached out a single hand and grabbed her roughly where her throat met her jaw bone. He forced her to look directly at him.

"You," he whispered hoarsely, in a way that worried Kagome like nothing he had ever done before, "are _not_ like Kikyo."

For an instant, his mind stopped racing. There was no veil between them. He read her openly and directly, not thinking, merely perceiving. It was not a thought. He absorbed her like water, objectively, as if seeing her through a lens from far away: that Kagome was an extraordinarily singular creature.

Then he was gone. Up and away he glided, halting only to direct the sudden burst of flames on the other side of the room. The fire roared up, warm and inviting, bravely though unsuccessfully burning away at the sickly miasma that trailed after Naraku. He whispered through the door and vanished.

Up to this moment, Kagome had not realized how tense her body had become. She relaxed. The blood flowed back into her limbs in rhythm with her quickly beating heart.

What did that mean? That she was not like Kikyo? A little twinge of disappointment fluttered in her chest. Of course she wasn't like Kikyo. After all, that was what Inuyasha always inferred, whether he meant to or not. She was not the perfect protectress or beauty Kikyo had been. She touched her neck softly. Even Naraku had managed to point out her shortcomings in this respect. Kagome bit her lip, subconsciously trying to stop its trembling. She had always had fairly good self-esteem. Yet it was hard to maintain it while shouldering everyone's failed expectations. And she was tired, so tired . . . .

Her eyelids opened and closed like heavy shutters. She sagged to the floor and slept.

* * *

Kagome found herself upon waking in a clearing in a familiar part of Kaede's wood. It was late morning. Startled at first, she then thought with a soothing relief that the previous night's events were a nightmare. But upon examination, she discovered bruises beneath her tender face that proved otherwise.

As calmly as she could, she half-ran to Kaede's village, where she was met by warm care and concern.

* * *

Naraku watched placidly in his mirror. Through the eyes of his puppet, he could see that the woman-child arrived safely to Kikyo's village. Then he turned aside.

Kagura frowned disapprovingly at him. "Why'd you let her _go_? We could have gotten something useful out of her."

He glared at her, making Kagura involuntarily step back. She thought – but she wasn't sure – that he looked more tired than usual. "My actions are not your concern." He rose wearily and walked over to a long window. A ponderous minute passed between them. Then, "As it now stands, the woman-child is doing a fine job collecting the shards on her own. Why should I be one to stop her?"

"Then it was a waste of an opportunity bringing her here at all."

"Not necessarily," Naraku said thoughtfully. "I now have a vague idea of why Kikyo so despises her."

Kagura raised her eyebrows in surprise.

_Hm. Kagome_, Naraku thought to himself, eyebrows knitting. _I may have use for you yet._

And deeper still, buried beneath layers and layers of conscious neglect and suppression, another part of him agreed.


	2. Three Beats

_**Three Beats**_

Kohaku was curled up sleeping safely in the next room. Kagome envied him that after all he'd been through, he could sleep so easily. She was not as fortunate. She had tossed and turned and tossed some more until, flinging the covers off of herself but carefully so as not wake the sleeping boy, she slid out into the adjoining room. There, she paced the spacious floor for half an hour, until she grew weary of that activity. Now she stood quietly gazing out the window. Yet all she could see was a deep, thick, sickly grey fog, stretching on and on into the distance. It was all she could ever see.

As she stood there deep in troubled thought, the door to the hallway slid softly open and closed. Gradually, she perceived more than heard his approach. He stopped, hovering mere feet away from her. His proximity made her nervous, but she did not turn to greet him.

He was aware of the goose bumps rising on the back of her neck, and resisted a random, irresistible urge to reach out and smooth them down.

"You keep looking out that window as if you believe that one day the scenery will suddenly be changed."

Her shoulders tensed ever-so-slightly. "I have to find something to hope in."

"Do you?" It was a rhetorical question. He knew the answer full well: she had to hope. Hoping was the only thing keeping her alive. Yet this fragile string, the only thing connecting her to life, was inconceivably strong. He thought of what she'd said to him, so many months ago. No. Kikyo could never have survived for so long.

"And anyway, I can't sleep," she sighed, and he could hear the heaviness of exhaustion in her voice. He could never get over how bluntly she talked to him, as if he were still nothing but the mere thief Onigumo and not the most feared and hated demon in the land. With skill, he shoved away the abominable thought that perhaps she only perceived what was there.

He made his tone indifferent, matter-of-fact. "Our quest will soon be nearing an end."

There was a long, pregnant silence. Softly, "And what then?"

"I think you know."

Her little hand came up swiftly to grasp the window pane. Her knuckles were turning white, but her face was turned away from him.

"You know . . .," he spoke, uncharacteristically letting his thoughts from into words, "regardless of the effects it will have on the outside world, one remaining in here would not be as likely to face . . . destruction."

She flinched visibly, and he solemnly took in this response. It had not been the desired effect. A strange reaction was occurring in him. A hot sensation tightened in his chest, and he was inexplicably irritated – perhaps even angry. In a single movement, he turned swiftly, robes skidding over the well-polished floor. He paused at the door. Indignant, he added nonchalantly over his shoulder, "At least you would not be witness to the disgraceful death of your pathetic friends."

He had meant to hurt her, and he knew the right buttons to push. She swept around, seething. Tears welled up and dripped heavily from her large, dewy eyes.

"I hate you!" she cried, "I would rather die out there, honorably, with the ones I love, than remain here with you to be a mere puppet for you to control, a pet for your amusement!"

He retorted cruelly, "Then maybe I shall kill you here and save you the trouble of either end."

With that remark, Kagome threw herself at him. She was wild with fury. He caught her nimbly, as she swung her fists violently, trying desperately to make contact with him. She sobbed openly, no longer wary of showing despair. She beat, and beat, and beat, growing ever more frustrated as her bursts of energy met only with immobility, again and again. He pushed her limbs away from him, not without some difficulty, and managed to bring his arms around her to lock her in his embrace. Still she struggled. He held her tighter. Finally, she could no longer move, but still, his grasp tightened. Harder and harder, he was crushing her against him. She was trapped in his vice-like hold, and for an instant, their struggles met a deadlock.

Naraku's eyelids clamped closed. It was unsettling, so unsettling: this overwhelming desire to pull her into himself. But all Kagome could think of, with a start, was how impossibly warm, how _real_ he felt. For a moment, she forgot he wasn't human at all.

For three beats of the heart, they were perfectly still; and an onlooker observing objectively might have mistaken them for lovers embracing. Then, in an instant, Naraku ripped her away from him, and held her at arm's length. Bringing his right arm around, he backhanded her deftly, and sent her flying across the room. He did not wait to leave until she made harsh contact with the windowed wall, caving in like a limp rag doll, and falling heavily to the floor.


	3. Night and Day

**_Night and Day_**

"Kagome, child, are you certain?" Kaede asked, gently fingering the bruises around the school-girl's neck.

"Ow. Yes. I'm certain."

"You don't think you could be suffering from some sort of delirium?"

"Kaede-baba! No! You ask Inuyasha when he gets back. He was there. He saw me with . . . with _ him_. And how else do I explain these bruises?" Kagome fussed with the woman's gnarled fingers probing her tender neck.

Kaede reclined on her heels. She was quite healthy for her age, and still somewhat flexible. "It's all too unlikely – that you should survive an encounter with Naraku. If what you say is so, then there must be something foul afoot. There is no other way of explaining it. Anyhow, you would do well to stay hidden for a while, and keep out of trouble."

"Kaede . . ." Kagome's voice had quieted and her eyes trailed the floorboards. She looked sad and thoughtful. "Do you think . . . do you think I'll never be as good as Kikyo?" she finished, voice nearly imperceptible.

Kaede sighed. She leaned in, placed a comforting hand on her small shoulder. "Kagome, don't be silly. No one is asking you to live up to Kikyo."

She looked up sharply, concern etched in her petite features. "But I feel as if they expect me to, sometimes. I don't know . . . It's just . . . ."

"Kagome. What is it?" The old woman twisted a stray, glistening lock in her fingers.

"Naraku said . . . he said I'm not like Kikyo."

"So you aren't."

"He wasn't afraid of me at all, Kaede! And I was so scared of him!" She pressed her lips firmly together, turning them white in trying to compose herself. However, the sting of tears would not be placated. "I thought I was going to die . . .," she murmured

She leaned forward and into the priestess's lap, letting the tension slip from her body in hot, steady tears.

* * *

Even Inuyasha agreed when everyone decided it would be best if Kagome go home for a while. He saw her off to the well, intent on keeping close watch over her after her encounter with Naraku. Like Kaede, he too suspected foul play. But he couldn't comprehend what type of vile plan their Enemy had in store for her. When he reluctantly voiced this fear to Kagome, he was surprised by her response. It was not the reaction he expected.

The trees reached up to kiss the sun, despite the cold of the previous days before. The autumn leaves clung bravely to the branches, but the vibrant color was fading, their life-giving circulation severed for the winter. The forest was cool and still, as in the last days of autumn, the first before winter. She was sitting on the edge of the well, legs together, posture straight, gazing at her hands. "He abducted Kikyo before . . . remember?" She looked up, solemnly. "Kikyo also was unharmed."

Inuyasha's thick eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Yes, but . . . damn-it, Kagome, Kikyo can take care of herself!"

Kagome at once looked startled, and Inuyasha found himself stumbling over his words, trying to fix them, searching for an error, though he was not sure what. "Look, I just – I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

He was relieved when a faint smile curled her lips. But the words that followed seemed to transform the promising look into a hurtful expression. "I'll never be as good as her, will I?"

He was immobile. The blunt response had knocked the wind right out of him, and before he could recover, she had leapt over the side of the well and disappeared into a swirl of yellowish light and mist.

* * *

"Naraku . . .," the lilting voice trickled over him like cool water over smooth stones. "Why did you let her go?"

"Who?"

The sing-song cadence faded into animosity. "You know who I mean." The voice paused, then realized that he did not mean to respond, "My reincarnation."

"My dear Kikyo," he said, the inflection in his voice betraying a smile. "Since when do you care about your reincarnation?"

"Since she became so interesting to you, Naraku," she retorted in a fakely pleasant tone.

She had the audacity to confront him in his own home about his own private matters . . . ah, yes. Here was the Kikyo he knew.

In the bare, spacious room, he looked directly at her for the first time. Her gaze was steady, unflinching. It was quite an accomplishment to look Naraku in the eye, no little matter, and Kikyo was quite aware of this. Here serene, vacant beauty dimmed the dark miasma, if only faintly.

Naraku did not smile, but his tone was humorous, "I have decided to actually seriously consider the woman-child's usefulness to me."

Kikyo smirked sardonically. "I don't like that look, Naraku. What kind of manipulation are you planning?"

He laughed openly, enjoying their verbal challenge. "Now if I told you, what would be the fun in that?" All of a sudden, his look and mood darkened, a billowing cloud overshadowing the sun. "This girl, this . . . Kagome . . . she is far more different from you than I once imagined."

The air seemed to drop in degree, and Kikyo looked him up and down with a wary eye. "She's only a reincarnation . . . how strong could she possibly be? Next to me she is no threat. What could you possibly expect?"

"That is not how I mean."

"How?"

He faced his back to her again, knowing how it insulted her. "Inuyasha is a fool . . . to hesitate between the two of you. You are as different as night and day. The night may hold more fear and hold sway over the vicious things, but at the sight of morning, the terrors all flee. The innocence and optimism brings those it touches into a new dawn."

"You found her refreshing," she stated bluntly.

Naraku grinned. "I did."

"You mean to play with her."

"I do."

"You always were sick. After all this time and effort, you still cannot bury Onigumo completely, can you?" These last words were deliberate, meant to arouse his anger.

But when he turned sharply to rebuke her, he found she was gone.


	4. Drink

**_Drink_**

_(100 words)_

_ She carefully knelt near his head and bent over him as he lay sprawled on the wood- paneled floor in a pool of his own blood. The broad sword protruded from his abdomen, pinning him down. She knew she was being foolish, for he could still easily extend his arm and throttle her or tear her flesh. Still, she bent nearer._

_ He gazed at her, upside down, and she returned his stare hesitantly, peering into his smooth, red, unblinking eyes. She was thoughtful._

_ "I can't see my reflection, you know . . . in your eyes."_

_ He smiled. "That's because I'm drinking you in."_


	5. Escape

**_Escape_**

Through his sleep, he dimly perceived the door to his room sliding open. Soft feet padded over the cold floor and halted near his bedside. The rhythm of the movements sank into him as he lay on his stomach, separated from the floor by a thin, traditional mattress. He blinked his eyes open, calmly. She was sitting on her knees next to him, expectant. Slowly and gracefully, he moved his arms beneath him and lifted himself up into a sitting position, all the while keeping his head turned to his left and locked on her. His black locks fell over as he did so but to one side, for he had tied it up out of his face for the night. They gazed at each other.

The woman-child had a strange, unfamiliar look on her face . . . it was almost vacant but for the slight wrinkle of worry in her brow. Instinctively, he put out his left hand and reached for her kimono, gently folding away the right side. Her right hand came up to help him in holding the cloth back. There, beneath the thin fabric, a sickly green bruise marred her skin, centered around two puncture-like black holes.

He moved his hand down and away. Leaning into his right palm, he took in her entire visage, never betraying his thoughts. He was not as surprised as she might have expected him to be. He had always taken the possibility into account: she'd caught a slider-demon and allowed it to bite her.

"So," he said coolly, "you think you will escape that way?"

She blinked heavily, shook her head slightly as if to clear it. The poison was already affecting her. She chose to say nothing and looked down, almost shamefully.

"I'm surprised at you, Kagome. It was really quite selfish of you. Think of Kohaku. What will happen to him when you're gone?"

He watched her expression change gradually, as she took into account this new information. Apparently, she had not thought out her plan very well.

"Besides," he continued in a low voice, "suicide is not your way at all."

She swallowed hard. There was a noticeable change in her breathing – it had become shallow and shaky. She licked her lips, but there was hardly any saliva to wet them with. It was growing more and more difficult for her to function.

For a few moments, he took her actions into account silently. Obviously, the most important thing in the world to her was the safety of innocents; the second most was her friends; lastly was herself. The time had come for her to forfeit the least or else she must forfeit the greater. Of course this is what she would resort to. With the weight looming over her so near, she could think of no other plan in her desperation. Only she had realized too late the error of her logic.

Her head nodded like a drunkard's. She brought her white hand up slowly and pressed it against the center of her forehead. Then, as if her limbs had suddenly taken on a great weight, she lowered herself heavily onto her side, letting her body sag onto the floorboards.

In no great hurry, Naraku reached beneath his pillow and removed a long, thin knife. He moved over Kagome, kneeling, and nudged her gently onto her back. He needn't have been forceful. She rolled over softly, without protest. Then, he loosened and pulled back the kimono, making a long, shallow cut over her right breastbone, in the center of the bruise. Crimson blood pooled out, eager to cooperate.

Without hesitation, the _hanyou_ lowered his head and place his mouth over the opening. He lapped up the warm blood, like a child nursing, coaxing it along naturally. The only indication that Kagome followed his actions was a slight noise made when his warm tongue slipped inside the wound. He drank for some time, until her blood ran clean, and he could no longer taste the poison. Then he straightened and looked down on her, scarlet gathering in the seams of his mouth. A thick drop trickled from one corner. He licked his lips.

Still disoriented and weak, Kagome gazed blankly back at him. He lifted her up and moved her the short distance to his bedding, laid her there. She slept instantly. But he bent closely over her for a long while, watching her sleep and regulating her breathing.

* * *

Next morning, she woke to see him standing over her head, looking impatient.

"We're leaving," he said bluntly. "Get up."

She blinked stupidly. What had happened? She felt awful.

Lethargically, she started to sit up, when a pain the entire length of her breastbone threw her back down onto the futon. She squeezed her eyelids closed tightly. She'd forgotten what had happened the night before, and the open wound was still terribly sore. She felt tenderly, examining the cut with her fingers. Someone had bandaged it while she slept.

"Come on," he urged.

She started to push herself up on her elbows, ready to try again, when he reached for her arm from behind and roughly helped her to her feet.

"Take a bath, and be quick about it. We're leaving before noon."


	6. Out of Favor

**Out of Favor**

In the fogginess of her consciousness, she was aware of being jerked onto her feet and shaken. There was a vague familiarity about the place, as if she had been there in a dream. The woman, also, was familiar, with her sharp features, fierce grimace, and beautifully angled eyes. But Kagome could not grasp how she knew them.

Over the cold floors and dim corridors, the woman led her, impatiently turning back every now and then to wait for Kagome's sluggish limbs to catch up.

They eventually entered a room which, to Kagome's knowledge, was identical with all the others. Only in this one, the dark figure sat at the end of the room, perfectly still. She felt a sense of warning, but the shove from the woman launched her forward.

The man rose.

They faced each other for a few moments, as Kagome's eyebrows lifted, furrowed, then twisted in recognition.

"Naraku . . .," her voice slipped out forcefully, almost hoarse, as if from lack of use.

He smiled in greeting. "Kagome."

She started to sway on her feet, but the man reached out and grasped her upper arm, steadying her.

"I have need of you," he stated bluntly.

"Why should I care?" she gasped out. Her weakened state of mind had altered her judgment considerably.

"You will care," he told her reassuringly.

With that, he swung her around, facing away from him, still grasping her arm to keep her from collapsing. There was a wave of his arm, and the very air of the room visibly trembled. His sickly miasma slithered around her skin and made her nauseous. Even the woman, whom Kagome now recognized as Kagura, blanched. She shuffled away and to the side of the pair.

Kagome was not sure afterwards if it was her foggy mind that had imagined it, or if it had really happened, but a squelching, thread-like ball appeared quite suddenly, floating in the center of the room. It was about her size in length but wider in girth.

The ball hovered and glowed greenly for a couple of seconds, before movement from within caused it to convulse. Kagome thought she would be sick when a pale, yellow, slimy hand burst forth from the ball and started struggling with its bindings.

Unconsciously, she pressed herself away from the thing at the center of the room, and was met with a solid barrier. She realized it was Naraku when his hand came up to grasp the back of her neck painfully. She kept her place.

The hand managed to rip an opening into the fabric of the green, slimy ball, and pushed its way through. The head emerged completely. A wide gaping mouth gasped the air, and the black, matted locks stuck to the forehead in chunks. It was like watching a demon being born. But when the eyes opened, white and round and frightened, she knew they were human.

A cry escaped from Kagome's throat before she could stifle it.

The grip on the back of her neck tightened.

"I don't ask favors: a life for a life."

She felt like she was drowning, gulping and gasping but never getting any air. "It's . . . it's _ Kohaku_."

The boy struggled within his prison, newly awakened. He was terrified. His eyes found Kagome, who flinched at his pathetic, pleading cry, "Sango!"

Instinctively, she thrust out her arms and started toward him, but she was weak, and the single, cold hand held her in place. She twisted around, irately grasping the fabric of his clothes and twisting them in her nails.

"Let him go!"

He smirked.

"Let him go," she repeated, though this time, her voice barely filtered out in a plaintive squeak.

"Make me a deal."

Kagome bit her lip and said nothing.

Naraku jerked his head, and a scream reverberated around the room. The web-like fabric was beginning to engulf Kohaku once again.

"Oh, stop it! Stop it!" Kagome cried, clamping her hands over her head like one in pain.

The movement stopped.

"I'll give you the boy if you give me yourself."

She couldn't stop the trembling in her limbs. At the same time, she felt surreally light. She felt as though at any moment she would drift off the floor and float away.

"What could you possibly want with me?" she asked weakly.

"You can find jewel shards."

"So can Kikyo."

"I don't want Kikyo."

Kagome scowled. "It's because she's too strong for you, isn't it?"

He softly smiled, cupped her chin almost lightly. His actions were completely out of place in that room of terror. "No, my dear, not at all. You put up more of a fight than she ever did."

Kagome stumbled backward, knocking his hand aside, but it was like a breeze barely stirring the limb of an ancient, wide-bowled tree.

"I – I might change my mind, you know."

"No, you won't. Not as long as I keep the boy alive. Gambling with your own life is in your nature, but you won't risk his."

Kagome was wretched. Dejected, she whispered, "I'll do whatever you say."

Light and noise blended together. It happened all at once: Kohaku fell to the floor with a thud, scampered up as she came to him, and grasped her across the middle, sobbing and muttering.

During the last of her consciousness, the room was dark and empty. She and Kohaku still lay in the same spot on the wooden floor, he with his arms around her waste like a small child, and she wrapping his nakedness with her warmth as best she could. He muttered Sango's name again in his troubled, delirious sleep. He seemed to think that Kagome was his big sister. But she was exhausted, and her thoughts presently faded to nothingness.

* * *

She let him cling to her like an infant, though she was unused to such a large child-companion. The _kitsune_ was so small in comparison.

"Tell me again about Sango."

"She's well, Kohaku. And so is Kirara."

"Does she smile?'

"Yes. But she never forgets you."

"I know that. Kagome . . . ?"

"Hm?"

"I'm . . . I'm hungry."

"All right. I'll go see if we can get some food."

The boy wouldn't eat anything Kagura brought. So Kagome had taken to intercepting the demoness and bringing the meals for herself and for Kohaku, so that he would eat and grow stronger.


	7. Time Took a Breath

**Time Took a Breath**

She reeled forward, one excruciating step at a time.

Her hand pressed desperately against her side, a thin, delicate arrow protruding from between her black-stained fingers.

Wisps of branches reached out and scratched, dragging at her skin, but she slunk through them like a driven thing.

She had to get away.

She must put distance between herself and that horrible image, as if the further she got from it the less real it became.

The cold crept around her, a shivering lover. Dusk was gathering beneath the branches in the forest, and the musky scent of decay, soil, and sun drifted into an almost visible haze.

Or perhaps it was her vision blurring.

She stumbled, tearing her knees, but got up again immediately.

In a clearing ahead, she thought she saw some forest beast, a brush of white against the purple twilight.

She stood, blinked.

The baboon-pelt shimmered a little, as if beckoning her.

She staggered toward it.

He stood perfectly still, so that she was unsure whether or not it was truly him or one of his puppets.

She stopped about a meter from him. Time paused and took a long, shuddering breath.

Then she collapsed, heavily, like a tree felled.

The arrow snapped.

Her head lulled a little, her masses of inky tresses pooling out about his feet, like a dark stain in the water.


	8. Posession

**Posession**

Naraku perched cross-legged on the irregular rock formation, which made its home at the edge of the forest. The shimmering baboon pelt masked his face and figure. Dangling delicately from his arms was the _shikon no miko_.

Kikyo's reincarnation. No. Kikyo's successor.

Her head lulled a little, tipped back over his forearm, her hair draped neatly. She looked at perfect ease. The arrow, which had pierced her side such a little while ago, was gone. A dim drowsiness replaced it.

Naraku held her loosely but firmly. He could sense Inuyasha approaching, and a hint of decay and nostalgia betrayed Kikyo's nearness. So. They were together. His grip tightened ever so slightly. He wanted them both to see. Kagome was his possession.

The _hanyou_ arrived as if Naraku's thoughts had summoned him from a dream world. He had been bounding through the woods, but he came to a dead halt when he saw them. His amber eyes found the little priestess, wounded but sleeping.

The only thing worse than seeing Kagome with Naraku was the fact that seeing them didn't look . . . _wrong_. He cradled her, almost tenderly, and the woman-child pooled into his lap like a drowsy kitten.

A tension held itself between the two _hanyous_. Underneath his baboon pelt, Naraku smiled.

Kikyo glided up behind Inuyasha. She too halted immediately when she saw the demon lord on his granite gloating throne.

"Naraku . . .." she sputtered, like an angry kettle.

"So good of you to join us," he replied smoothly. "Especially since – as I understand – there was a bit of a spat between the two of you."

"Kagome!" Inuyasha snapped and lashed out recklessly, but his windscar shattered against Naraku's force field. He staggered back, and drew his Tetsaiga. "Kagome, wake up!"

Kikyo's eyes burned hatred.

Kagome's dark moth lashes fluttered in protest. She made a small noise.

Naraku looked at her but said nothing. Then he returned his gaze to Inuyasha. "You. Why do you think she would listen to you? You abandoned her."

"No! I – I didn't know. I thought she was Kagome!"

Kikyo hung like an idol in the shadows.

Naraku sneered. "You _wanted_ to believe she was Kagome. . . . You damaged _yourself_ this time. I hadn't even to lift a finger. You did all the deception for me."

Inuyasha roared and flew at Naraku's head, but the miasma sent him sprawling backward again. It seemed Kagome's energy was feeding into his force field.

Naraku laughed. "I don't understand, Inuyasha. Tell me. How could you _confuse_ the two?"

Inuyasha clenched his teeth. "Kagome! Kagome, wake up!"

She didn't even stir. Her feather-lashed eyes blinked open. She craned her neck a little and saw him.

Inuyasha's black brows furrowed in concern. He waited.

For three seconds, their eyes connected. Then Kagome turned her head away from him.

"No!" Inuyasha lunged a third time. But the Tetsaiga withdrew, peeling off a sheet of white light and revealing an old bone blade beneath its once shining glory.

Kikyo peered out hesitantly from the shadows.

Naraku seemed placid beneath his baboon mask. "Take the _miko_ you have chosen, Inuyasha. This one belongs to me." And with that, he was gone, a cloud of poisonous smoke remaining.


	9. Mind Games

**Mind Games**

They were mind games.

They were meant to play with her head and weaken her spirit.

Three weeks into her captivity, she was near tearing out her hair in frustration. She could not determine the causes of her rewards and her punishments. Then it occurred to her – suddenly, like the daybreak . . . there _was no cause_.

An outing with Kagura down the mountain and into the forest; a hot bath; two sweet cakes for herself and Kohaku. The next day, she and the boy were separated without an explanation, she was forced to stand all night long, or she accompanied Naraku on his excursions, which was the worst punishment of all.

The mammoth demon fell like a mountain, causing the earth and trees to shudder for miles. Naraku strode up to it casually, cut his long fingers into its thick skin, and drew out the Shikon shard, and stood, white baboon pelt swirling around him.

Kagome watched dully in waning afternoon light.

Naraku walked away wordlessly, and the school-girl slowly followed. The wood, which would have been alive with the sound of birds and small animals, was silent at the demon lord's presence. Gold light beamed through here and there through the shifting branches of the spring trees, but all else was still. Kagome strode quietly, about two yards behind her master. The baboon pelt and mask hid all features from her view.


	10. Reflections

**Reflections **

He stood in front of Kanna's mirror, hair trickling over shoulders like dark water. In his arms he held the _miko_ still. She was naked, and her back pressed up against him where his arms came around her front and crossed her chilled flesh, one over her tender breasts, another just beneath them. Her limbs dangled, and her head rolled limply to the side.

He reflected.

The gash in her side was tended with an ointment and bandage – the slit where Kikyo's arrow had entered when the _hanyou_ . . .

Kagome's neck jerked as she woke, finding her skull a great weight. She gazed listlessly out in front of her. Naraku remained still. She stretched a little and then squirmed to be let down. He dropped her and she fell painfully onto her hands and knees on the cool floor, pressing her wound in agony.

He knelt down beside and watched her.

"That wound will never heal," he murmured, "long after scars fade."

Kagome did not answer but looked into the mirror. Her face was pale and streaked with dirt.

Naraku reached and held her chin in his hand. He met her gaze in the reflection of the glass, his eyes like bruised plums.

"You wish to be fulfilled in all the wrong places," he spoke calmly. "You look to the _hanyou_ to complete you, to breathe life and beauty into you. I have seen how your insides crush at his hesitation. Do you believe that one day he will finally see? That he will tend to the seed he planted and nourish your withering, sickly love? Look into the glass."

Kagome did. She could see now that hot tears streamed quickly.

"You will never find that from him, nor from anyone." Naraku looked steadily, undeterred by the glass barrier. "To see what you truly are, you need only look in the mirror." He dropped his hand, still holding her infinite eyes in reflection. "You are whole. You are complete in yourself."

She let fall a soft sob at the words she had so longed to hear – that she was not Kikyo's mere reincarnation. But the person they came from was not whom she would expect.

Naraku stood, dropping his baboon pelt around her nakedness, and started to leave her.

She stopped him with a plaintive cry. "You will never live!" She said it as though she knew she were speaking nonsense.

He halted. Turned slowly. "Won't I?"

She blinked with difficulty and turned to look at him. "You won't. Because the others. They want the jewel _more_ than you. They _deserve_ it more than you. They have honor, and family, and friendship. But you – you have nothing. You want the jewel merely to possess it. What will you do with it? What strength in your desire could you possibly have?"

Naraku laughed then, deeply, maliciously. "Stupid Kagome. Power _is_ the object of power."

She started in shock.

He laughed fully and kneeled next her again. "I will be great," he whispered dangerously, "and I will wallow in that greatness."

She swallowed, having long ago abandoned feigning bravery for him. "You won't be happy," she said quietly.

"That is not my goal."

"I hate you!" she spat childishly.

He looked at her strangely, evenly. "Indeed. And yet . . . you came to me . . .. Or do you forget the _hanyou_'s betrayal?"

Her features twisted in a mixture of wrath and sorrow.

"Hn. You would like to hit me, wouldn't you?"

Kagome trembled angrily.

"Do it. Hit me."

She sprang like a cat. Nails extended for his face, but he was quicker. He knocked her backward onto the ground and straddled her waste, pinning her hands as they leapt, even within his heavy grip. A primal memory tugged at his consciousness. There was something to be done with a naked woman. But it was long since he was a human, and he could not remember.

Presently, Kagome went limp, breathing heavily. He let go her hands and reclined on his calves, still on top of her.

He enjoyed that he made her angry. And yet . . . a hot flame of unfamiliar jealously licked within him.

Because _ Inuyasha_ made her _cry_.

The knowledge came to him not as thought but as intense bursting color, waves of heat deep in his chest.

It was in the midst and tumult of such alien emotion that he leaned in and kissed her, before he even knew what he was doing.

It was gentle, almost absent, the way he dipped his torso low and touched his mouth to her cracked lips. She remained very still for him. His mouth over her upper lip, the pillow of her bottom lip supporting it. Their eyes were open – his vague and distant, hers wide and frightened. His breath came steadily, calmly. She trapped hers inside her chest. They rested there for a few moments. Then he withdrew, making hardly a sound but for a tiny suck upon her lip. He reclined again and exhaled deeply, as though removing a heavy load.

Neither moved. Neither thought.

Then carefully, Naraku rose and moved away, unhurried, and slid the door closed behind her.

Kanna, forgotten until now, set the mirror down with hollow eyes.


	11. Meeting in the Middle

**Meeting in the Middle**

She was still wearing his baboon pelt when she went to him that night. Beneath it, she had several layers of kimonos, but she still shivered.

There were so many rooms, empty and skeletal like starving children. But she knew where he was, somehow. She found him sitting alone in one, deep in concentration, unmoving. His hair was pulled back, but he faced away from her. She stood in the doorway and buried her face into the fur. It smelled of embers.

For a long time he didn't move at all, and she sensed a kind of uncharacteristic strain in him. She straightened a little, sensing. She moved into the room and stood behind him.

"You're in pain," she whispered.

There was an imperceptible stir of his head.

She touched his shoulder lightly. "Let me."

She waited, and he nodded.

She knelt behind him. He slowly slid his kimono from off of his shoulders. The sleeves draped over his arms and fell in a graceful crescent. It cupped his lower back, revealing the stinging scar, shaped like a squelching spider.

Kagome swallowed and inhaled. She lifted her hands, white and cool in the darkness, and gently pressed them to his back. She was startled, but did not flinch. The skin was feverish to the touch. She pressed a little harder, concentrating on pulling away some of the pain into her hands. The sensation increased. She felt as though she stayed too long in a steam bath. She felt as if she were coming too close to a fire. She felt like she had sunbathed too long. She felt like she was touching hot food. Hot stones. Dipping her palms into scalding water.

Kagome snatched her hands back. She pressed her fists tightly into her chest, squeezing her eyes in an instinctive effort to diminish the pain.

He sighed.

Presently, the pain faded, and she scooted back a little, readjusting the baboon pelt around her shoulders. Naraku lifted his kimono back over himself, first one sleeve and then the other. He was perfect and cool.

"You want something."

"No," she said quietly. "That one was on me."

He tilted his head a little, in a question.

"That means . . . I did it because I wanted to."

He turned away again.

She tried to think. It was like pushing against a brick wall. Finally, she half bowed, half collapsed, leaning on her hands. She touched her forehead to the floor. "Please. I will do anything. Anything. If you will give up the Shikon jewel."

She waited, prostrating, not even before him facing him. She expected a snort or a cruel laugh. But there was only a soft sound. "Little Kagome. You have nothing that I want." It was factual, and nothing more. Then, "Come here."

Kagome sat up and looked at his back. Then she jumped up, like a machine jolted into motion. She came around to face him. He was serene, and his dark crimson eyes unfocused. She knelt in front of him. Their knees nearly touched.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back a little. The black streams of hair coiled slightly. He spoke, "Once, there were two men walking along the shore. As they walked, they spied a strange creature. A turtle was circling in the sand, rolling this way and that, doubling back on itself, and collapsing, only to get up and move again. What was strange about this turtle was that it had no head. 'It must be dead,' the one man said. 'It has no head. It cannot live un-whole.' But the other man disagreed. 'It is moving,' he said. 'It must be living to move in such ways.' The two discussed it among themselves, long into the evening. They could not agree on whether or not the turtle was alive or dead.

"There was a wise man in the village who was renowned in those parts. They decided to take their argument to him. So they went before the wise man and told him of the turtle who lived yet was not whole. He listened to each man's case, nodding quietly. Finally, when they had finished, they asked him, 'Well, wise man? What do you make of this turtle? Is it alive or is it dead?' The old man smiled to himself and answered . . . 'It is simple. He does not know he is dead.'"

Kagome felt a strange drop in her chest, as though she had just jumped from a cliff and only now realized she could not fly.

Naraku opened his eyes. He looked at her, gaze empty but not cold. It enveloped her, embraced her. It took her into him. "I do regret," he said, soft as falling snow. "I regret . . . that I cannot be whole for you."

For an instant in time, she could feel nothing. And she wondered if perhaps she hadn't died a long time ago and, like the turtle, did not realize she was dead after all.

"Now come and kiss me," he said, evenly and softly. "Tomorrow morning we will be enemies."

She did. Not because he said to. She wanted to. She leaned in timidly, putting her weight on her left hand, the right clasping her collar. She hovered over his mouth, frightened yet expectant. Then he moved to meet her, and they kissed tenderly. For a lingering moment, she was un-alive, and he was un-dead, and they were all alone, and they were, and it was all right.

But he pulled back and touched her shoulder, softly pushing her away. She understood that she was to get up at once. She stumbled up onto her feet, half-numb. She walked away quickly and didn't look back. If she did, she knew she would fall into his lap and ask for death.


	12. Touch

_Author's Note: Here's a little more lighthearted one. I may fix it later._

**Touch**

Naraku strode roughly in, his kimono bloody and torn, and ordered Kagome and Kagura to bring him some dressings.

In all the time she had spent in Naraku's house, Kagome had yet to see any servants. But she knew there had to be _someone_ tending it. Her bedclothes were always fresh and pressed. The bath always steamed, waiting for her. And their meals were prepared three times a day, like clockwork.

Once, she had seen a youth making his way from the main house to one of the lesser ones. When Kagome had called out to him, he looked frightened and ran away before she could speak to him. From this, she gathered that there _must_ be servants, and perhaps it was wise of them to choose to remain unseen.

But it was quite characteristic of Naraku that he would choose only the best for himself. And as long as two able mystical women housed with him, it was Kagome and Kagura only who were permitted to make direct contact with him.

Kagura begrudgingly hauled a bucket of steaming water into the sparse, dim room. Naraku sat patiently in the center, preoccupied with his left forearm. The cloth surrounding it was so deeply stained it was purple.

Kagome swallowed.

"We're going to need more. Here." Kagura shoved some white bandages into Kagome's hands and exited the room.

She stood uncertainly for a while, while Naraku moved gracefully. He slid off his kimono so that it hung about his waste. A horrific bubbling gash revealed itself in his left arm. For all its ugliness, he did not betray an ounce of pain.

Kagome wondered who could have rendered the great demon lord such a blow. Perhaps . . . perhaps it had been Inuyasha. A hot flower of pride bloomed in her chest.

She watched silently, vaguely interested, as Naraku washed his wound thoroughly with the steaming water. His hands were wide and betrayed a masterful grip, even now, and his upper body rippled gently like water, but he was hardly bulky.

He must have sensed her staring because his gaze rose and he looked at her, face expressionless. "Would you like to touch it?"

Kagome felt all the blood drain from her head. "Touch what?"

"My body."

As quickly as all the blood had left it, it rushed back with a vengeance, giving her the vague sensation of having sucked in too much helium. "W-what!"

He smirked. "Are you scared?"

Her cheeks flamed, and her eyes found the floor in uncharacteristic shyness. "I'm not scared."

Slowly, he lifted his right arm and held it out to her. She looked at it as if it would burn her, but gradually, her features hardened into determination.

She came toward him and he dropped his arm and continued with what he had been doing before. The soaking cloth went back into the hot water and came out again. He rubbed the gash deeply but slowly. He obviously did not intend to leave any trace of the attacker on himself.

Kagome knelt hesitantly next to him, but he continued without notice. She reached out and touched his right shoulder lightly. It was smooth and round. She let her hand slide down his right arm. The soft meat beneath his skin undulated as he moved. She found a vain and traced its textured path down to his elbow.

Fascinating. He felt every inch of him a man, a mere man. She furrowed her brow. How could it be that he was made of such vile things?

Kagome withdrew the bandages Kagura had given her and held them out. He retrieved them automatically and bandaged his arm tightly. The blood soaked through it immediately. But it didn't matter, because Kagura returned presently from somewhere with more dressings.

* * *

Even if he wasn't a _man_, he was a _male_, and he was quite a baby about being ill. It seemed that the attacker had left some poison in him, and he retreated to bed rest, ordering Kagura not to let anyone disturb him. Kagome was not off the hook, however, and it was her job to sit outside of his room near the door and listen for his call, in case he needed her. 


	13. Humor Me

_**Humor Me**_

She was a schoolgirl at heart, and she was bored out of her mind.

In-between hours of restless waking in the dark and dull dozing in the gray, bleak day, she haunted the halls of her captor's fortress, chasing dust and cobwebs out of corners and trying to entertain Kohaku.

One day – whether it was morning or evening, she couldn't tell, for the daylight hours seemed to stagnate, punctured only by the oozing blackness of Naraku's nightfall – she sent her boy companion out to gather discarded rushes, in hopes of collecting enough in the endless unfolding of empty rooms to be able to weave them into little dolls and animals for amusement. The young demon-slayer was eager and strode on ahead of her, and Kagome eventually found herself perusing the damp corridors and shivering open the rice-paper doors in solitude.

Something she had grown accustomed to, the solitude. What had once been a deeply disturbing deadness to her had numbed into a deadened buzz, a sleepiness of or an _absence_ of living. It was in times like these, when the house was empty and when she and Kohaku were left up to their own means, that she could sink with gratitude into the safe-haven of her mind, losing herself to musings that were neither fearful nor desperate.

She hummed a little to herself, stopping every now and then to examine a shadow on the wooden floor, then moving on in search of something that could be of use to her. The heaviness of silence and subsequent pervasiveness of her own movements no longer bothered her. She came to the end of a hallway and halted abruptly, surprised, blinking and glancing around her as if the wall jumped up to meet her from some hidden corner or dark corridor. There was a lattice window, and she approached this, half-curiously, and peered out: but all that met her was the continuous dull-grey of Naraku's realm.

Now she noticed that beneath the window was a low shelf, and as she knelt to examine it, she saw that there were yellowing rolls of scrolls slipped inside.

She let out a little sigh of intrigue and put her fingers on one of the longest; pulled it out; opened it with skilled and gentle fingers.

They were historical scrolls, things she had seen in museums and university exhibits, never before up close. This one was a simple account of tariffs drawn up by the hand of a clerk in some distant province, but she was intrigued nonetheless. Something real and written. Paper and ink. She was nearly euphoric.

She gingerly rolled this scroll and grasped for another. The thing slide out easily, with a generous helping of dust. Kagome coughed and waved her hand in the vicinity of her nose. When her eyes blinked open again, she was aware of a light fluttering near her face. As her sight cleared, she saw a brown but dainty moth hovering and trembling.

Her breath caught.

Something _alive_.

She put her hand out, reverently, as if to touch it, but the thing maneuvered, flittering here and there in zigzag lines of light, parting the dust with slight slices of paper-thin wings. It seemed to jump up and to the right of her, and she leaned back beaming. It swooped further and made to flit around her.

As she turned to follow, a grim presence manifested itself – whether it had been there all along or suddenly just appeared she couldn't tell – and swiped the moth from view.

She looked up at him, expectantly. The hallway seemed to creak and tighten.

He cocked his head slightly at his extended fist, then twitched it at her, almost inquisitively.

She still knelt on the floor in front of him.

"Please," she said, and her voice wasn't timid and it wasn't brave. It just was. "Please, don't kill it."

Naraku raised an eyebrow like a jagged scar.

They looked at one other, each considering the other's thoughts.

His bottom lip curled. His wrist tightened.

"Wait!" she cried, jumping up and grasping his bare and taught forearm.

He said nothing, but watched her, patiently awaiting her case.

"Just . . . let it go," she pleaded.

His eyes, deep as garnets, searched her face, and she felt herself sag under the weight of his probing.

Measuring what he should do. No doubt searching for a favorable reaction.

This time, he opted for the unexpected.

Lightly, he moved his arm, and it came out of her grasp easily, as if she knew already what he would do.

His fingers came open, like a flower blossoming. Inside, enthroned in the soft center of his palm, the moth sat, confused and trembling. It lingered only a moment, then grasped at its freedom, sprang into the air, and was gone.

He was watching her intently still, marking the softening of the muscles in her face, the grayness that fell away from her like a discarded skin, and the color returning – the first shying rose of a virgin dawn.

An endless intrigue. He couldn't fathom her. What caused her and what made the blood return to her, keep returning, even after he gave it so many reasons to freeze and die?

He didn't know what to think; uncertain whether he preferred this reaction or the other, the one where her light failed, eyes misted with pain and distance. Either way, his satisfaction spread deep when he could solicit a response from her. He liked to touch her, like a subject to stimuli, to record in his insidious memory the quality, shape; taste, smell; length, duration, and texture of her where he touched her. Where his existence inserted itself, uninvited, into her own.

This rarely included physical touch. But today – whether it was the tangibility of the moth or the sudden lightening of the dark into less-dark – he _felt_ like feeling her.

A faint pressure arrived at her throat.

Her chest deflated with a sudden exhalation of breath. His thumb touched her collar bone and his fingers splayed and rested over her shoulder, stroked the roots of her neck. She leaned back, instinctively, eyes widening, pupils dilating.

But he leaned forward into her. Put his face near her cheek, then lowered so that he could listen to the pulse of blood in her throat. Her breath coming shakily, irregular.

This however, did not please him today. His eyes were far and the line of his mouth wide and faint. He pushed away from her, lightly but not tenderly, unsatisfied.

As Naraku sliced around and walked swiftly away down the corridor, long robes sighing complainingly, he wondered at his own elusive intentions with the _miko_. He was growing angry and unsettled. What once had pleased him no longer satisfied. It no longer contented him to nudge her around his fabricated maze of smoke and mirrors, of pain and pleasure, promises and threats. No, it would not do. It was not enough, yet he had nothing else.

Lord Naraku was at a loss.

(And that did not bode well for Kagura, who was to show the fruit of his frustration in blossoming plum-bruises very shortly.)

At his back, tucked into the end of the hallway where the shadows moved as if finally released from the _hanyou_'s spell, Kagome softened. Closed her eyes; then opened them. She looked down into her hand and realized that she still grasped the bundle of browning straw she'd scavenged for Kohaku's game. When she looked back up – spied the last undulating inky locks of the enigmatic demon lord disappear into a dim corridor – she wondered.

And she wondered at what point she had started to wonder about him.


End file.
